Chapter Eleven Tom
Chapter Eleven
Tom
Kid: Hi. I unblocked you.
Me:
Kid: When are we hooking up again?
Me: I’ll be in touch.
Kid: Counting on it, Tomcat.
Kid: I’m thinking of getting a new cut. Like this.
Kid: What do you think?
Me: What are you doing?
Kid: Making small talk…?
Me: I can see that. Why?
Kid: Why not?
Kid: FGS just answer the question.
Me: Your hair looks fine.
Kid: Duh. It’s more than fine. It’s gorgeous. But what if it could be even MORE amazing?
Me: Do you ever stop talking?
Kid: No?
Kid: So?? New haircut?
Me: No. I like the current one.
Kid: Whatever. You wear checkered socks. Your opinion is invalid.
I didn’t answer, hoping it would make him go away. Checkered socks were perfectly acceptable paired with a suit. Unfortunately, my acute lack of interest in getting to know him did not discourage him in the least.
Kid: Have you smiled today?
Me: ??
Kid: You never smile.
Me: I smile.
Kid: I’ll make you smile.
Me: Excessive texting is against the rules. We’re hooking up on my terms, remember?
Kid: Bro, you thought my word while your hand was on my dick meant something?! I would’ve given you both my kidneys and nephews in that moment.
Kid: Open this next attachment.
I sighed and sat back in my office chair.
The same office chair I’d occupied for the past seven hours.
It had been an entire week since I got Enzo off.
I was neck-deep in a case. Not the Camorra, but a small, albeit violent, crime family in the Bronx who’d decided to murder a child by running them over because his father wouldn’t pay his debt.
Sully sat next to me, rubbing at his temple and frowning at a picture of the victim lying on the asphalt, lifeless. It was gory to say the least, and I wasn’t getting out of here tonight. Maybe not tomorrow, either.
Despite myself, I grabbed my phone and opened the picture. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about what we did on his parents’ golf course on an hourly basis.
It was a picture of Enzo sitting on what I guessed was his bed, stark naked, with a rose between his teeth and a cocky smile. He’d written COME EAT ME with whipped cream across his chest, but because of the mirror reflection of the phone, all the letters were backward.
A weird sensation took over me, and my mouth twitched on its own accord. “Rothwell, you having a stroke or something?” Sully grumbled from my side. I flipped the phone screen down quickly, shooting him a glare.
“Now why would you say that?”
“Your mouth did a weird thing.”
“You mean smiling?”
“You never smile.” He frowned, the pink splotches on his face reddening further. “If this is your smile, don’t do it again. You look like a coyote trying to befriend a chihuahua.”
“Fuck off.”
A few minutes later, I peered at my messages one more time. I had a feeling it was going to be the only thing to get me through the night.
Kid: Made you smile, didn’t I?
Kid: I’m off to try some suits for my wedding. Let me know if you want a dick pic from the dressing room. Great lighting there.
Kid: Oh, and check my Instagram. Bye. x
I huffed. He was deranged if he thought I’d check his Instagram just because he said so.
I checked his Instagram ten hours later, when I’d finally wrapped up my case, issued warrants, and made arrests. It didn’t ease the pain and sorrow I felt for the child, but at least the monsters who did it wouldn’t be able to hurt anybody else.
It did not escape me that all my other cases were running smoothly. The Ferrantes were a thorn in my side. I intended to shut down their operation before the year was out, though. And Enzo was the key to doing that. I’d start asking him questions soon. Next time we saw each other.
I didn’t wait until I was home. I checked my phone as soon as I was in the privacy of my car, punched in his username as I took my first sip of coffee.
Then proceeded to spit the coffee all over my lap.
He must’ve taken the photo in the same session he did when he sent me the picture of the rose in his mouth, because he was naked as the day he was born, looking at the camera, flashing his six-pack, tattoos, and general outrageous hotness, with nothing but whipped cream covering that gorgeous, thick cock of his.
The caption read:
Trying on different outfits for my next date with my boo. Is this too much?
#youknowwhoyouare #missyou #madeyousmile
A few different notions warred inside me.
I was amused. Also flattered. Enzo was gorgeous, funny, intelligent, and rightfully admired for his physique. And he wanted my sorry ass, even though I was a grumpy, cynical old man.
Worry—both pictures I saw of him had his inner wrists concealed from view. Was he okay? I wanted him to be okay. And that didn’t go hand in hand with my desire to put him in prison.
Anger—I’d told him not to talk about us, directly or otherwise. He was already breaking the rules, being his flighty, careless self.
Lastly, I didn’t fucking like that he was showing off his body to every Tom, Dick, and Harry.
More specifically—he could show his body to a Tom, and Tom’s dick. Harry and the rest of them could go fuck themselves.
The thirsty comments made me choke on the coffee and scald my tongue.
Celia9289: Don’t ask me the color of anything
Nycbaby_$: you can’t post this kind of photo and ask a calm question
Darrenday55: hey, I think we hit the same gym!! I should come say hi next time.
Jessiejordan: check your dms.
I was this close to reporting some of these perverted lowlifes.
I knew it wasn’t jealousy. It couldn’t be, because I didn’t mind him marrying Katya Rasputin. More accurately, I thought the union shouldn’t happen, but not out of possessiveness. She wasn’t a good match for him. He was putting his family before his happiness, and that was a stupid thing to do.
Me: Do you ever wear pants?
Kid: Only when I have to. Pants are a social construct.
I stared at the words, unsure what to say or do. An unfamiliar territory. I always knew what to say and always knew what to do.
Me: You’re breaking all the rules.
Kid: You love it.
I didn’t. Not even a little bit.
It was bad enough that my behavior in his vicinity was jarring to say the least—chaotic was a better word, albeit one I wouldn’t be caught using, dead or alive—but even our text exchanges were all over the place.
My recruitment phase of turning Enzo into my informant was off to a catastrophic start.
The kid couldn’t stick to one damn rule, and even though he made me lose my mind one faculty at a time, he was the most fun I’d had since…
Ever.
He was right. I hadn’t smiled since what happened with Matt. I’d decided to live my life meticulously, efficiently, and without distraction. Nothing ever amused me anymore…
Until Enzo.
And that was a big fucking red flag waving right in my face.
This was fine, though. Perfect, actually.
I didn’t like fun. Fun was pointless. Smiling was a chore.
Clearly, he posed no threat to my perfectly constructed existence.
Everything he had to offer, I didn’t want to buy.
This was strictly business. I needed to meet up with him to squeeze information on his family business.
And luckily for me, Enzo was very forthcoming when I made him come.
Kid: So?
Me: So what?
Kid: Is that a good outfit for our next hookup?
Me: Enzo, you were naked.
Kid: Nothing escapes you, huh? No wonder the FBI recruited you.
He was such a smartass. The exact opposite of the one and only boyfriend I’d had. Matt was serious, levelheaded, morally unshakable, and an old soul; it was the fact Enzo and Matt were such polar opposites that assured me I could never fall for the mobster.
Me: I’ll try to see you on Friday.
Kid: Friday?! It’s Tuesday now!!!
Me: Nothing escapes you, huh? No wonder you are the Camorra’s enforcer.
Kid: First of all, this is untrue and we are not speaking of this unless we’re in the room with, like, sixteen of my lawyers. Second…
Kid: I NEED RELIEF.
Kid: COME BACK HERE RIGHT NOW.
I left him on read and smiled like an idiot the entire drive home.